


the absolute existence that is you

by 0paque



Category: Monsta X
Genre: (warnings will be posted in the author's note at the beginning of each chapter), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Death, Drug Abuse, Imprisonment, M/M, Non-Permanent Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Spiritual Gifts, Spiritual Realms, Supernatural Elements, Villainization of Religious Figures, sensitive topics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 08:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0paque/pseuds/0paque
Summary: “If I help you,” Changkyun begins cautiously. “You’ll explain all this to me? Help me figure out what to do and where to go?”Hoseok nods as much as he can. “You have my word. I’ll help you as much as I can for as long as I can.”Changkyun stares at Hoseok for a moment, eyes locked on one another. It feels like another century passes before Changkyun looks away, mutters a quiet “Fuck it.” and wraps tattooed hands around the chain linked to Hoseok’s right arm.“If you go back on your word,” Changkyun spits, obsidian glare returned to Hoseok’s eyes. “I’ll find out a way to kill you again. I’ll give you an ending that’s not as kind as death.”Hoseok swallows. There’s a heavy truth in Changkyun’s threat, so he nods to say “Understood.”
Relationships: Im Changkyun | I.M/Lee Hoseok | Wonho
Kudos: 10





	the absolute existence that is you

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I promise I'll try to actually finish this fic instead of throwing it on an indefinite hiatus like all my other chaptered fics. Sorry about that. Please enjoy.   
> \----------------  
> Warnings for this chapter: Gore, body horror, villainization of religious figures (i.e. villainization of God), topics of death, drug use, murder, war, and overdosing

One thing about the chains is that they always burned. 

Ever since he was bound all those centuries ago, the links binding him to his pedestal felt like fire against Hoseok’s skin. His knees ached from decades of kneeling, his fists ached from so many years of pulling and writhing. His throat ached as if he’d done nothing but drink the flames that damned him to where he is. 600 years of screaming for justice, calling out to God and promising his revenge, all for damaged vocal cords and another century to his sentence. Pathetic.

If only he’d survived that night. Had that bullet been aimed an  _ inch _ to the left, had he stepped away a second quicker, it wouldn’t have grazed his neck. It wouldn’t have slit his throat. He wouldn’t have drowned in his own blood. He wouldn’t have died and left behind the corpse of a soldier, of a  _ General _ , and he wouldn’t have been punished with an eternity of isolation and agony. He led a successful, fulfilling life, but his dying moments of malevolence and wrath must’ve outweighed every good deed he’s ever done. 

His memory was as sharp as ever. His last meal, approximately 637 years ago, if he was measuring time properly, was a measly bowl of soup with a half-bowl of rice to ration out meals for soldiers. There might’ve been a bite or two of beef in that soup, but it was mostly watery, tasteless broth and noodles that had absorbed too much water as they cooked. The last person he spoke to, apart from his murderer, was a messenger, who listened to deliver a letter. Ironic that the last letter he sent was filled with glee and excitement over the end of the war, and how once he arrived home, he could finally settle down, take a wife, and return to a life of craftsmanship and good food. His hands had not created nor had his tongue been graced with sustenance since.

Hoseok’s eyes held no more tears to cry. He drained himself within the first century of imprisonment. He isn’t sure what emotions he’s experienced since then - it’s all a blurry amalgamation. Anger and woe is the most obvious guess, and Hoseok is certain those two feelings had never removed their talons from the withering tendrils of his soul, not since his death. Sonder might’ve graced his presence, misery could’ve easily passed by with the wave of her cold, pale hand. The only certainty is that Hoseok has forgotten the true warmth of joy. He isn’t even sure he remembers what his last moment of happiness was, good memory be damned as he was.

_ “A soul shan’t find rest in anger,” Thundered the voice of the seraphim. Hoseok couldn’t make out its blinding form.  _

_ “I’m not an angry soul!” Hoseok had pleaded. His feathery white wings felt like they were being painted over with cold, black ink. “I lived a life of kindness!” _

_ “You lived a life of distraction.” The light rebuked with scorn. “Forgive, and you will find peace.” _

Hoseok will not forgive the soul who took his life. How could he? He will not forgive the traitor who betrayed their country, killed their commander, and cost them the war. He will not forgive the one that caused the death of his mother, of his brothers and sisters, of his men and his people. He doesn’t care if he burns for eternity, so long as the soul that killed him did too. 

  
  


Time has lost its meaning here, Hoseok thinks. He’s acutely aware that he’s spent several lifetimes in these chains, but it only feels as if he died yesterday. He’s lost hope for company, for the solace of a friend, as god has proven to him many times that there will be no healing through the love of another soul, not as long as he can control it.

A sigh escapes his lips, and Hoseok frowns at how crestfallen he sounds. He threw a pity party for himself within the first three decades, he doesn’t need to throw another one. What he needs is something to alleviate this chronic boredom. A spark falling from the golden flames flickering against the condescending white walls, a shift in the shadows they cast, something. Some movement other than a shift in his legs and the roll of his wrist would be ideal, but beggars can’t be choosers, it seems. God, he just needs to stretch his wings. They’d been curled flush against his body for about six centuries too long. 

Hoseok could see the room around him without even opening his eyes. He’s bound in an octagonal room, four white walls in front of him, his marbled white and gold pedestal sitting centered. There are no doors, and a ceiling that fades to white clouds that Hoseok can’t see through. There were no smells, no textures other than the fire of the chains, the itch of his robes, and the sleekness of his pedestal. No sounds, nothing apart from his own heartbeat, the ruffling of fabrics when he tried to move, the metallic clatter of his chains. He’s grown numb to the sound of his own screams.

_ “A life lacking peace is not a life, it is existence,” Said the seraphim. “As you had dedicated your earthen life to the disturbance of peace, you shall suffer eternally.” _

_ Hoseok was afraid. What does this angel mean? A life dedicated to the disturbance of peace? He was drafted in a war he didn’t start, and worked hard enough to earn a position of high power within his military. Wasn’t hard work and diligence rewarded in the afterlife? All his life prior to the war was dedicated to making people happy, and helping them lead fulfilling lives. He’s being punished for being murdered? _

_ The seraphim continued declaring Hoseok’s sentence. “By the divine judgement of our almighty God, delivered through us, His angels, you have been damned for your hubris and shall be bound by your rage and pride for eternity!” _

_ Agony, white hot fire filling Hoseok’s bones, an out-of-body wound afflicted as an angelic hand ripped Hoseok’s halo from his body, tearing away tendrils of his soul with it. His wings, once snow-white, then torched as black as the pit he fell from the Heavens into.  _

_ His body hit the ground, bones cracking and puncturing his lungs, wings splayed out beneath him in broken angles and staining with his ink-dark blood.  _

_ Hoseok wouldn’t die again, no. He’d lay there long enough to heal, and the moment the last drop of blood dried, Hoseok would stand. The chains would manifest, gold and gleaming, and bind him where he sits today, six and a half centuries later. _

A sound wakes Hoseok from his reverie. Hoseok hasn’t heard a sound other than those he’s made himself in eons. What could’ve possibly made a sound? What even was the sound?

Hoseok hears it again. It sounds like a voice. It’s frightened. Quiet.

Hoseok doesn’t call out to it. Instead, he wonders if he’s undergoing another bout of insanity. It’s been a while since he had one of those. He shakes his head and pulls against his chains. Black veins in his arms bulged as his arms strained. The scorched skin left behind by the chains healed scarless almost immediately, only to be singed to the bone once again seconds later. Well, at least he can still feel things.

The meek voice continued to plead and cry out, seemingly behind the walls of Hoseok’s prison. If it continued Hoseok might call out to it. Perhaps he was getting a next-door neighbor also in their own personal hell.

_ “Please!” _

Words. The voice was close enough for Hoseok to make out words. 

Hoseok cleared his throat. It burned a little. “Hello?”

_ Pat, pat, pat. _

Hoseok blinked. That was the sound of bare feet on the sleek floor of his room. The sound came from behind the wall in front of him.

**_THUNK!_ **

The torches’ flames extinguished. Only the cold, filtered light from the ceiling remained. A fragrant mist began to seep through the walls and settle against the floor - it smelled like lavender and sea salt, Hoseok thinks. It swirled and fizzed, and Hoseok realized it was tinted lavender as well. His heart soared at the mere concept of something happening - this was the first time in centuries he’d be given something new to think about!

“Hello?” Hoseok called out again, a little louder this time. His own speaking voice sounded foreign to his ears.

The mist froze. It froze, and then began to froth and hiss and pull itself together in spindles and swirls. A silhouette began to form from the fog: lithe, held together with taught, wiry muscle and knobby joints. The voice returned, clearer, but in a tongue unknown to Hoseok. It sounded as if it were being spoken in reverse. 

Hoseok watched the silhouette move like a man would when drunk. Stumbling, unsure of movements, like walking in a body that wasn’t his own. The lavender darkened to a caramel-tanned skin, marred with scars and scratches and messy ink. A robe of violet velvet draped itself over his bony hips as they solidified from the mist. Hoseok was awe-struck. He watched as the light filtering from above illuminated the boy manifesting before him. He shook and shuddered, stumbled on his bare feet, hands quivering over his face and beneath long, black bangs. He breathed erratically, almost as if he feared each breath would be his last. 

“Deep breaths,” Hoseok offered. He wasn’t sure what else to say. “Panic won’t help you.”

The boy froze and slowly lowered himself to his knees. He knelt, enough to press his forehead to the sleek stone floor, and laid his hands out in front of him. Hoseok took gracious note of the lacerations arcing along his shoulder blades, right where his wings should be.

“I- I mean no disrespect,” Stammered the boy, so quietly that Hoseok had to strain to hear him. “I won’t look at you ag-again, and I’ll go- I’ll go back. I just got- I got lost and I-I--”

Hoseok shifted in his chains, and hissed at the new burns they left. He had so many questions. “Where did you come from? Why can’t you look at me?”

The boy continued shaking. Blood trickled down his back. “My Lord, you told me that- that those foolish e-enough to look at you would perish i-immediately, and be sent to Hell to burn eternal- eternally.”

A lost soul. This poor, miserable boy was a lost soul. 

“Can you listen to me for a moment?” Hoseok asked quietly. He tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. “You can look at me. I’m not god.”

“I don’t want to burn,” Pleaded the boy. “ _ Please _ , I don’t wanna burn!”

Hoseok strained against his chains again. He needed to console the boy. His bones ached with the need to hold him and tell him he’ll be alright as long as he was here, away from god’s all-seeing eye. “I promise you won’t burn while you’re here with me. Please talk with me.”

The boy’s breathing seemed to regulate, and it lessened a feather of the weight on Hoseok’s chest. “I don’t know what to talk about.”

Hoseok smiled, for what could’ve easily been the first time in three hundred years. “Start off simple,” He suggested. “What is your name?”

Hoseok heard the boy swallow thickly. “My name is Changkyun…I think.”

Hoseok chuckled, then winced at the hiss of his skin and blood giving way to his chains. “You think?”

The boy, Changkyun, nodded against the floor. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.” 

Hoseok breathes. He wishes this Changkyun fellow would look at him. Maybe he could help. “Then tell me what you remember.”

Changkyun pauses and thinks for a moment. “I think I died. I remember a lot of crying, and everything going black, then white. I was laying in clouds when I woke up. There was no one around, so I tried to find someone.” He shivers. “I’m hoping this is just a bad trip and I’ll snap out of it in my bed or something. I don’t think god is supposed to yell at you.”

Hoseok chuckles again, this time more audible in hopes of lessening Changkyun’s fear. “That caught me off guard, too. I’m glad I haven’t had to deal with him in six and a half centuries.”

Changkyun falters, but his posture has loosened and he’s stopped shivering. His forehead is still pressed against the floor.  _ Tap tap tap  _ drips the blood from his back onto puddles on the cold stone floor. 

“‘Six and a half centuries’?” He echoes. “Like, 650 years?”

“Mhm,” Hoseok hums. “Give or take a few years, yes.”

“You said I could look at you, right?” Changkyun asks suddenly. 

Hoseok grins and his heart flutters with excitement. “Of course you may.”

Slowly, Changkyun lifts his head and graces Hoseok with the sight of his face. Sharp, angular, and analytical features sit on a hollowed face. Changkyun’s eyes are narrow and dark, cold, and his tall nose sits perched over pale pink lips and a pointed cupid’s bow. His expression, as Hoseok observes him, changes from curious to mortified. Hoseok is confused until he remembers what Changkyun is looking at.

“Oh, shit,” Is all that falls from Changkyun’s lips as he stands and rushes over to Hoseok’s pedestal. “Are you okay?! Can I help??”

“I hope you can,” He says, and fear floods his veins as Changkyun reaches out to touch a chain. 

“Don’t touch those! Don’t-!” Hoseok shouts, but when Changkyun wraps a hand around a link, he doesn’t burn. He hears Hoseok a few seconds too late and moves his hands away, but Hoseok is still perplexed. Changkyun didn’t burn...why?

“What is it?” Changkyun asks warily. “Why are you chained up?”

Hoseok moves and listens to the hiss of his scorching skin. He watches Changkyun’s face contort with terror. He frowns at the sight. 

  
“You’re dead, and this is your punishment?” Changkyun whispers. He touches the chains again. It’s pathetic how brittle they look in his hands.

“I was shot and killed during a war,” Hoseok says. “I was murdered by one of my own troops, and god decided an eternity of this was my punishment for not forgiving the bastard.”

Changkyun gulps and tugs at the chains. They clang and clatter, and Hoseok grimaces as they sear across his shoulders and chest. “That’s all? I wouldn’t forgive him either.” 

There’s still a sour shadow of doubt cast onto Changkyun’s face beneath the glow of the light above. Hoseok thinks he looks ethereal. Hoseok thinks it’s been too long since he’s seen another soul.

“You asked me to help, but you didn’t think I could touch these chains?” Changkyun laughs suddenly. It reminds Hoseok of a birdsong. “How could I have helped you get out of something I couldn’t touch?”

Hoseok makes an expression he hopes shows his unamusement. Changkyun’s mischievous grin falters, and Hoseok almost regrets shutting down the tease. 

“I thought you could find something around here to break some of them,” Hoseok explains, gesturing around the room with his eyes. The chain against his throat scorches him a bit, and he spits out the black blood that pooled in his mouth. “Break off a torch or something. That doesn’t matter though. If you could just break a couple of these, I’m sure I could take care of the rest.”

Changkyun nods and begins to circle Hoseok’s pedestal. He’s obviously deep in thought, and Hoseok’s skin prickles beneath his stare. Changkyun makes a full circle and then Hoseok panics when he can’t read his expression. He’s got a delicate finger curled against his chin, thumb resting on his jaw. His violet robe is gradually staining darker with the blood from his back. His eyes are sharp, piercing, and picking Hoseok apart piece by piece through his bangs. He taps a foot against the ground.  _ Tap, tap, tap. _

“You’ve been chained here for a reason,” Changkyun deduces coldly. The low, husky register of his voice sends ice down Hoseok’s burning spine. “You aren’t telling me something.”

Hoseok frowns and feels his heart fall like a dead weight through his torso. “I told you everything and I told it to you honestly.” He says, pleading that his eyes held all the genuine fear that coursed through his blood.

Changkyun sits, and doesn’t seem to care about the soaked robe he sits on. Hoseok wonders if Changkyun can feel anything at all. 

“So god, the one people have literally slaughtered in order to worship, is punishing you for eternity because you got killed and won’t forgive the person who did it?” Changkyun parrots. He isn’t looking at Hoseok anymore, but his eyes dart around along the ground as he thinks. “And I’m dead too, if I’m here.”

“You must be.” Hoseok huffs. He internally snaps at himself; Changkyun wasn’t going to help him if Hoseok scared him. 

“But,” He continues carefully. Changkyun looks up at him from the floor, his face a muddled mix of fear, confusion, and wonder. “You obviously aren’t phased by holy punishments. You didn’t even make it to the Gates, did you?”

Changkyun shakes his head. “Like I said, it’s blurry, but I know I just kinda phased around and ended up here.”

Hoseok throws him a knowing look. “There it is. Phasing.”

Changkyun quirks a brow. “You lost me again.”

Hoseok bites his inner cheeks and squeezes his eyes shut, then takes his left arm and pulls viciously against his chains. He hears Changkyun’s horrified gasp behind the bubbling blood and skin. He opens his eyes again as he relaxes, and watches Changkyun react to Hoseok’s skin reforming. 

“Spiritual gifts.” Hoseok rolls his shoulder. “Mine’s healing. Yours must be plane shifting.”   
  


“Plane shifting?” Changkyun repeats. “Healing?  _ Spiritual gifts? _ God damn, you  _ really  _ have to fill me in on some shit.”

“I need you to help me get out of here,” Replies Hoseok with all the genuineness he can muster. “Just get me out of these chains, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Changkyun doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. Hoseok sees his inner turmoil and chooses to say nothing: even if this soul freed him from the chains, he doesn’t know how he’d get out of the room. He knows the angels can see them beyond the ceiling. 

“If I help you,” Changkyun begins cautiously. “You’ll explain all this to me? Help me figure out what to do and where to go?”

Hoseok nods as much as he can. “You have my word. I’ll help you as much as I can for as long as I can.” 

Changkyun stares at Hoseok for a moment, eyes locked on one another. It feels like another century passes before Changkyun looks away, mutters a quiet “Fuck it.” and wraps tattooed hands around the chain linked to Hoseok’s right arm. 

“If you go back on your word,” Changkyun spits, obsidian glare returned to Hoseok’s eyes. “I’ll find out a way to kill you again. I’ll give you an ending that’s not as kind as death.” 

Hoseok swallows. There’s a heavy truth in Changkyun’s threat, so he nods as if to say “Understood.”

Changkyun gives a hearty pull, and the chain shatters. 

The strand curled around his wrist snakes around to his left wing and around his abdomen, and Changkyun doesn’t pull it off before moving to another link and shattering it as well. He feels a chain fall from his thigh and drape further down his hip. Changkyun continues to break the links all over Hoseok’s body, and neither speak as it happens. The only sounds in the room come from both their labored breaths, the hiss of Hoseok’s skin, the snap and clatter of individual chain links, and the  _ pat, pat, pat _ of Changkyun’s feet as he circles Hoseok’s pedestal. 

Hoseok feels a full breath enter his lungs for the first time in 637 years. He gasps, a smile curling his lips as the last of his chains clatter to the floor. He falls forwards, extends his dark wings, and laughs. He’s free, he’s been freed! Changkyun’s freed him!

He tumbles off his pedestal and tries to stand, and thanks his thick thighs for retaining their age-old strength. He runs around, jumps, dances with glee. Oh, it feels so wonderful to stretch his legs, his arms, bend the joints in his elbows and ankles! Using the muscle he’d been forbade to use fills him with a long forgotten happiness. He turns around, looks at Changkyun, and hopes his smile says the number of thank yous flooding Hoseok’s brain and heart. He charges towards Changkyun, arms extended and pearly white teeth on display in a blinding beam, and immediately skids to a halt when Changkyun raises a chain link like a thread of choking wire. Primal fear surges in his eyes like a cornered animal. 

“Do people not hug anymore?” Hoseok’s joke falls flat as Changkyun’s frown stiffens. Hoseok lowers his arms and purses his lips, then quickly shoves aside a few chains so he can sit comfortably on his pedestal. The minor burns heal within seconds.

“So,” Hoseok tries instead. “What would you like to know?”

Changkyun, still holding a chain in shaky hands, sits further away from Hoseok. “A lot, but start with the whole ‘spiritual gifts’ thing.”

Hoseok nods and mindlessly runs his fingers through a few of the feathers on his wings. He’d forgotten how soft they are against his calloused hands. “Right. As I was being escorted to the gates by a reaper, a soul with the purpose of guiding the deceased to the pearly gates, they spoke fondly of the different gifts I could receive. They’d rattled a list off, I think it went along the lines of ‘healing, shielding, phasing, and seeing.’ Healing from any wound, creating force fields or something, shifting through different realities, and divine sight. I’m still confused about some of it, too.”

“Right,” Changkyun says, and it’s evident that he isn’t truly satisfied with what he was told, but tries to soak in the knowledge nonetheless. “Now explain the wings.”

“Angels have wings, don’t they?” Hoseok teases with a ruffle of his feathers. 

Changkyun sneers again, and Hoseok’s once again realizing that Changkyun is a freshly dead soul with no concept of a Divine reality. He’s confused and he’s afraid. Hoseok has gone far too long without interacting with another entity.

“Not all of them,” Changkyun sneers, and Hoseok decides he doesn’t like that tone very much. “Those fuckers with all the eyes and fire don’t have wings, they were terrifying! And besides, even the ones that did have wings had white wings. Yours are black and I don’t even have any.” Changkyun moves his shoulder to emphasize his lack of feathery appendages, and winces. Hoseok briefly wonders if his gift of healing could also heal other souls.

“I can’t answer those questions,” Hoseok replies truthfully. “I don’t think you have any because you never made it to the gates. I got my wings right before I stepped in. As for why they turned black...all I can think of is that it’s a symbol of shame. Anything that sees me would know that I’ve done something wrong.”

The winged soul brings his knees up to his barrel-like torso and wraps thick arms around them as Changkyun processes the information. He appears to have stopped bleeding, and whenever he moves, the drying blood cracks, flakes, and flutters to the now stained floor.

“Do you think we can get out of here?”

Hoseok blinks. Changkyun is looking at him, a knuckle between his teeth, worry and sincerity in his eyes.

“I’m sure there’s a way,” Hoseok says. “There has to be.”

The room isn’t big enough for him to properly take flight. He can hardly extend his wings to their full length, and he gets a sick feeling in his core whenever he thinks about trying to fly through the roof with his lost soul -friend?- no, no. Companion. Changkyun had helped him out of obligation, and obligation does not warrant friendship.

“We shouldn’t fly out.” Hoseok tucks his wings back against his body and stands. “I don’t know what’s up there anymore.”

Changkyun peers skyward at the illusory clouds that seem to go on forever, but still allow cold divine light to filter in. (And it’s strange. Hoseok swears he catches Changkyun looking at him instead.) 

Changkyun purses his lips. “I’m gonna try and shift again.” 

Ah, right. He can phase through realities.

“Do you have any idea how?” Hoseok questions. The additional  _ “Do you even know how to take me with you? _ ” lingers quietly, unsaid.

Changkyun closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I remember letting my body feel light and flowing, just like I would’ve felt had I been tripped up and not dead. I was confused, but I chose not to think too much about it.”

Hoseok nods. He’s guessing that Changkyun died of an overdose. “May I touch you? I might be able to heal your back.”

Changkyun startles and watches the other man. Hoseok is still, palms up and facing Changkyun as if he were still a frightened animal, which he supposes he is. The man’s black wings are stretched out, but lowered to the ground like they were too heavy. Hoseok’s expression is gentle, serious, and if Changkyun looks closely, afraid. 

The younger nods, but watches as Hoseok carefully steps closer with outstretched arms. Though he hasn’t displayed any reason for Changkyun to be afraid of him, the pseudo-angel still makes him uneasy.

Slowly, Hoseok places his hands on Changkyun’s back, flat-palmed against the lacerations where his wings would’ve been. There’s warmth, starting from the center of Hoseok’s calloused hands and spreading along the length of his spine and trickling into his blood. Changkyun’s lungs feel full of sunlight and his heart pumped full of honey, sweet and dribbling into his bosom, swelled with wildflowers and dove feathers. He feels clean, purified, doused in spring water and fresh air. His soul no longer feels weary and broken, instead full of all the joy and good things he could ever experience.

The feeling lingers like sleep over his eyelids once Hoseok removes his hands. Changkyun’s robes are dry again, and the blood that had dried along his limbs had disappeared. There wasn’t even a scar where he was cut so deeply, and a majority of his tattoos had disappeared. Well, he could always get them redone back on Earth.

“How did you do that?” Changkyun asks, bewildered. 

Hoseok beams. “Gift of healing. That’s what it can do.”

Refreshed and determined, Changkyun grabs Hoseok’s hand -much bigger than he’d observed, now that he holds it- and shuts his eyes. 

“Let’s get out of here,” He says. Hoseok admires and is proud of the tone of confidence in Changkyun’s voice. “I’m taking you back to where I remember. I think I can do that.” 

Hoseok sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he smiles and closes his eyes. He pulls his wings back against his body, but his feathers still ruffle in excitement. Changkyun grips his hand tightly, and as soon as he exhales, Hoseok feels his body begin to fill with static. He feels the pricks and prods in his fingers, in his ears, on the slope of his nose and the tip of his toes. It’s like his body became vapor, each atom separating and only existing to move where he desires. It’s enthralling.

Hoseok feels himself, whatever form he’s in, slip through the cold floor like water through a sieve. The only consistency he can feel is the warmth in his right hand, wherever the molecules of his hand have dissipated to. Changkyun might feel the same thing, wherever he is. Vapors don’t have eyes. Hoseok doesn’t know where Changkyun is. 

Hoseok didn’t miss the feeling of falling. When his body finally solidifies again, that’s what he’s doing. He’s plummeting towards Earth -a place he hasn’t seen in centuries!- which isn’t exactly how he wished to return. 

Changkyun manifests beside him, hand still warm and clammy in his own, and properly screams. Thinking quickly and as soundly as he can, Hoseok pulls the wingless man flush against his body and extends his great black wings.

They catch wind and glide. 

“Hold on,” Hoseok strains. He’s never flown. His wings wouldn’t move to lessen the fall when he fell from Heaven the first time, and the only thing keeping him adrift now is his fear of his body breaking all over again. 

Changkyun’s arms are wrapped tightly around Hoseok’s neck, and in return Hoseok keeps Changkyun close with arms around his back and waist. Their legs are tangled and it’s messing with Hoseok’s ability to steer, but as long as he doesn’t plunge them into the ocean, he figures it’s alright. 

Hoseok can barely make out the green of a forest surrounded by pillars of stone and light. He’s approaching the woodland quickly, and decides to try to land there in avoidance of the great gleaming towers. Changkyun’s shaking breath against his neck keeps him grounded.

The wind feels euphoric against the pitch black feathers. Being airborne felt so wonderful...it’s a shame Hoseok has a deathly fear of heights. 

The canopy of trees grows closer, so close that Hoseok can smell it. Oh, he’d forgotten how wonderful new smells were. 

Changkyun shakes in Hoseok’s arms as he continues his descent. The winged man is careful not to bring harm to the smaller as he begins to swerve to avoid treetops. The navigation is increasingly difficult as stray branches whip and scratch his face and arms, but the small cuts are proof to Hoseok that though he has left the realm between Heaven and Earth, he still bears his spiritual gift. The marks heal instantly.

Changkyun only shouts “Be careful!” once, right next to Hoseok’s ear, and Hoseok would’ve quipped back had he not been trying to avoid flying straight into a tree. Changkyun’s legs untangle from his, dropping and causing immense disruption to Hoseok’s ability to fly. His back strains, wings now too wide for the distance between trees. 

“Hold on,” Hoseok says with the tightening of his grip around Changkyun. “I need to land!” Changkyun nods and Hoseok hears the punctuated gasps from both of them as Hoseok tries to hold them still and slowly lower them to the ground. 

The landing is still unpleasant anyways, but at least solid ground is beneath their feet once again. 

Hoseok falls to his knees and presses his hands into the fallen leaves, grass, and soil. His smile is broad as he delicately plucks a violet from the ground and brings it to his nose. Changkyun notices that the inky feathers of Hoseok’s wings glimmer with so many colors in the specks of sunlight that peer through the canopy. 

“Are you happy to be back?” Changkyun asks as he kneels beside his winged companion. 

Tears slip down Hoseok’s cheeks as he grins. “I am.”

__________________

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